“Asleep? that’s a pretty Tale to tell of me,” quoth he. “I wonder if you wouldn’t feel sleepy sometimes, sitting from Morn to Night on a Door-step, full in the Sun!”
“I want to tell no Tales,” said I, “but only desire to send Word to my Friends on the Bridge that I cannot return to them at present, being wanted here.”
“Return? of course you cannot,” says he. “Why, do you suppose Persons are to be allowed to walk in and out of Houses under Visitation at their Will? ’Tis clear against my Lord Mayor’s Orders.”
This had escaped me; however, it made no Difference; and he engaged to let Violet know the Cause of my Detention. Then I returned to my Charges, and, to my great Surprise, found Dorcas had crawled nearly all down the Flight of Stairs between her and Master Blower, and was now lying all along. She said, “I thought I must see how Master was ... if you will but tumble the Mattress down, Mistress Cherry, I’ll lie just within his Door,—then you won’t have to run up and down Stairs so often.” It did, indeed, make it easier for me to attend to them both; and truly I never had such a Night before nor since; for though my dear Mother’s Sufferings had been long drawn out and very sad to witness, they had never amounted to acute Agony. The Fever of both ran very high all Night, and it seemed to me that Master Blower in his Deliration went through the whole Book of Job in his Head, from the disjointed Fragments he uttered here and there. Also he seemed much argufying with an impenitent Sinner in his Flock, his Reasonings and tender Persuasives with whom were enough to have melted a Stone. As to Mistress Peach, I must say her Thoughts ran mostly on her Jams, ... she conceited herself opening Pot after Pot and finding every one fermented; and kept exclaiming in a doleful Voice, “Oh dear, here’s another Bishop’s Wig!” So that, what with being ready to laugh at her, and to cry over him, I was quite carried out of myself, and away from my own Troubles. Towards Day-dawn they both became quiet; I fumigated the Room, bathed their Temples with Vinegar, moistened their Mouths, and then knelt down in a Corner to pray; after which, I dozed a little. I had heard the Death-cart going its melancholy Round during the Night; and had felt thankful we had no Dead to be carried out.
In the Morning, both my Patients seemed bettering. Dorcas, with my Help, got to her Master’s Bedside, and looked in on him. “Dear Sir,” says she, “how are you now?”
“Somewhat easier, but very thirsty, Mistress Peach,” says he.
“Oh dear, Sir,” says she, “don’t call me Mistress Peach, or I shall think you’re going to die. I like Dorcas best now. What a Mercy it was, Sir, Mistress Cherry came in as she did, for we were both at Death’s Door. I dare say, Sir, you missed me?”
“How should I do otherwise?” said he, speaking very thick, and with evident Pain.... “I’ve got a Wasp’s Nest in my Throat, I think.... How should I do otherwise, I say, when no one came near me for twenty-four Hours?”
“Ah, Sir,” says she, “I’m sure I beg your Pardon for behaving so ill,—for being so ill, that is; but indeed I could not help it. I thought,” continues she, turning to me, “I wouldn’t die, as ’twere, just under his Nose, so crawled out of Sight; but put Everything near him that he could want before I took the Liberty of leaving him; and did the best Thing I could for him at parting, by putting a fine drawing Plaster round his Throat.... Pray, Sir, did it draw?”
“Draw?” cries he, with the first indignant Flash I ever saw from his pleasant Eyes ... and ’twas half humourous, too,—“Like a Cart-horse! I should have been dead Hours ago, you Woman, had I kept it on!”